


when half spent was the night

by avyssoseleison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avyssoseleison/pseuds/avyssoseleison
Summary: Castiel muses that this is, after all, what Christmas is truly about.





	when half spent was the night

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming".

Castiel finds Dean in the living room, bathed in the light of the Christmas tree, sprawled out all over the sofa, his entire body loose and lax, and his eyes half-closed. He cannot help but want to kiss him as he is, this very picture of relaxation, and so he does: with quiet steps, he bridges the small distance between them, cards his hand through Dean’s hair, who does not rouse beyond blinking up at him and sighing softly, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Dean’s eyes flutter closed at that, in that content and fulfilled way they used to only ever do once the two of them had found their pleasure in each other, especially so at the beginning of their relationship, when Dean seldom allowed himself any display of vulnerability or honest emotion. But, it happens frequently now. The sight of which never fails to elicit a sense of deep satisfaction within Castiel, and he simply has to lower himself to his knees to reach even better Dean and kiss him again.

The smile that curves Dean’s lips up at the unexpected gesture makes it just as worth it for Castiel as the scent of his hair, the feel of his soft skin, the taste of his husband’s lips. Dean’s mouth is slack, but not unresponsive; it is obvious that he did more than just lie here, probably had fallen into a state of rest, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, and is not fully conscious, yet is still receptive to Castiel kisses. He still wants them; wants _him._

The heat that blooms within Castiel’s chest upon this realization almost wants him to take Dean back to bed, just not for sleep, and to enjoy him in this utterly vulnerable and incredibly beautiful state, in which he is conscious enough to consent, but not enough to even attempt to put up a barrier. Not that he does so often with Castiel, not anymore. Still, for Castiel not even having to coax him into letting his guard down, to instead just receive Dean’s sweet sighs and open kisses like this, must be the greatest gift he has received tonight.

He pulls away from Dean as he feels his own kisses to grow headier while Dean’s stay the same, without heat or hurry, and places his forehead against his to calm himself. In careful measures, he inhales and exhales again, willing his body and heart to be satisfied with this merely level of physicality without urging for more.

Dean gives a half-snort at that -- as always amused by how easy his mere presence serves to arouse Castiel --, closes his eyes as their foreheads touch, and breathes with him. That he does not push for more or less shows Castiel that he has made the right call; that Dean indeed wishes for merely this.

Castiel blows out a long, slow breath, and then opens his eyes again, although he does not even recall closing them. From beneath him, Dean is already looking back at him, his own gaze not quite as half-lidded as before, yet still far from fully awake. Maybe it is because of all the food and drinks he consumed today that he seems only semi-conscious still.

“You okay there, babe?” Dean murmurs so sweetly and sleepily that Castiel simply has to catch his lips in yet another short kiss. It is a peck more than anything else, for Castiel fears that he might not be able to hold himself back again if he received yet another proper taste.

“I missed you,” Castiel says honestly, “when I woke up, you weren’t in bed.”

“Hmm, I woke up and couldn’t fell back asleep, so I came down here.” He shifts minutely, the tip of his nose brushing Castiel’s cheek.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, concern seeping into his desire and content. Just like Dean used to be prone to shying away from showing any sort of vulnerability when their relationship was a new and tender thing, so was he prone to nightmares and uneasy sleep. Throughout the years, due to many sessions of therapy and to some small degree probably also due to Castiel’s unconditional love and support, he has become better about both of these things, but every now and then, the demons of the past come back to haunt him. He is only human, after all.

“Hey, now, no need for that face,” Dean chides, his lips following the path that his nose took moments before in a soft line of kisses along Castiel’s cheek. Castiel does not even know what sort of face he must have made for Dean to attempt to -- by all intents and purposes -- kiss him bcretter, but he decides to simply accept his husband’s loving treatment. “‘m okay, no worries. I just got into thinking about the last few days, the entire Christmas time, really, ‘n wanted to see the tree again. And the decorations. And everything.”

Any other time -- not in the middle of the night, for starters --, Castiel might have simply found Dean’s actions adorable, smiled to himself at any excitement Dean might have had about the Christmas tree or the twinkling decorations in the window. But he could not shake off his concern nor could he ignore that wistful, preoccupied expression on Dean’s face. “Is this about your childhood?”

This time, Dean snorts fully. Probably, as Castiel belatedly realizes, because of the bluntness of his statement, and because Dean has long since given up on trying to teach him more tact. “Yes and no. But a bit, I guess. It’s about my childhood to the extent that it’s not about it. I mean, you know how we grew up, Sammy ‘n me, that we didn’t have all--,” he makes a tiny jerking motion with his chin, but it is enough for Castiel to know that he is gesturing towards the decorations, the house, _himself,_ “that, and I found myself thinking about how I _do_ have it now. The holly-jolly, the merry and bright, the goddamn silent night, and I was…” he drifts off for a moment, his gaze flitting away from Castiel and towards the Christmas tree, decked with red and golden baubles and ornaments, one of the most traditionally decorated trees Castiel has ever seen, “I was thinking about how lucky I was. As a kid, I always believed I’d never get anything like this, that not being hungry or-- or being beaten was all I should be asking for for Christmas. That it would be enough. Just Sammy ‘n me, some stolen snacks, a candy cane or two, and badly-wrapped gifts.  And look at me now: hosting a real Christmas dinner for Sammy and everyone else who’s family now, decorating the house that I bought with my own family and that belongs to _me_ and that I only share with my husband, who supports me and loves me and makes me feel so good and…” Although the Christmas tree is the only source of light in the room, Castiel can still see the tears shimmering in Dean’s eyes. “So, yeah, I’m lucky.”

Castiel’s arms are slung around Dean’s shoulders before he has even made the conscious decision to do so. Simple kisses would not suffice; he needs to be as close to him as is possible, as close as he can get aside from entering him, which he could not do right now.

Dean is trembling in his arms, though only slightly so -- and his breathing is steady. He is not breaking apart like he used to; and it is Dean’s strength that has Castiel speak with his voice dipped as low and intimate as the cradle of _them_ calls for.

“You’re not just _‘lucky’_ , Dean. You have worked very hard for this. You did not let how your father treated you stump your growth, but instead, you worked for a good education, you worked for a rewarding job, you took up therapy, you worked on becoming a man capable and deserving of a fulfilling relationship, and none of it was luck. All of it was you. Surviving.” He places a kiss onto his forehead. “Persevering.” To the tip of his nose “Earning your reward.” And to his gently parted lips.

 _“Cas,”_ Dean whines into the last kiss, but Castiel accepts no objections. Instead, he takes Dean’s face into his hands and licks into his mouth, well-aware of how his own desire will flare up again for naught, but also of how content Dean is to just receive kisses like this, open and earnest, even -- and some days _especially_ \-- without any ultimate purpose.

As they break their kiss this time, Dean finally looks fully awake. There is still a shimmer to his eyes, but also something darker -- Dean’s desire swelling in kind --, the sight of which Castiel has grown familiar with over the years, longs for so often that is is pitiful at times.. For yet another time in his life, Castiel catches himself realizing how helplessly in love he is with Dean, that there is nothing he would not do for him.

“If childhood-you could see you right now,” Castiel says, a bit more breathless than he wants to be, “I am sure that he would be as proud of you as I am today. You are not the child from so long ago anymore.” Dean’s hands are on his neck and shoulders, pulling him back in, pulling him onto him. “You are a man now.” Castiel goes willingly. He twists himself from their rushed embrace to fully drape himself on top of Dean, one hand in his hair, the other on his chin, all of their bodies connected, one solid line, from head to toe. “You are truly _yourself_ now.” Dean presses up against him, warm and willing, tempting and beautiful, making it almost impossible for Castiel to control himself any longer. “And an incredible husband, too,” he sighs into Dean’s ear, earning himself a shuddering moan.

“Cas, _please,_ ” Dean begs.

“Please what, Dean?” Castiel asks, not as a tease, but a reassurance. Despite the evidence of Dean’s desire pressed up against his own, he needs to know that Dean truly wants him like this right now, whether this is alright. Because heat has been growing inside of Castiel ever since he had come downstairs, and he does not want to burden Dean with something he might not be in the right headspace for right now.

Apparently, though, he is not alone in his longing.

“I want you like this,” Dean whispers, sweeping Castiel with relief, “I want you here.” _In the light of the Christmas tree, surrounded by the proof of everything he has achieved, everything he has become,_ he does not say, but Castiel hears it all the same -- _understands._

Because the true meaning of Dean’s words is in his hands that stroke the shoulders and side of his husband, gently guiding Castiel into a rhythm; it is in the comfortable Christmas pajamas underneath which his skin still carries scars, but underneath which his skin is also growing warmer alongside his arousal; it is in his eyes, which are dark with memories and desire but which also reflect the lights of the Christmas tree, the fruit of his own labor.

“I will have you wherever you want,” Castiel promises, with nothing but truthfulness in his voice and heart, “I want you however you will have me.”

And when Dean responds with yet another sigh, this one even sweeter and softer than any before, Castiel muses that this is, after all, what Christmas is truly about. What it should have been about whenever John hurt Dean and what it was about whenever Dean wrapped yet another stolen present for his brother. And also back when Dean and Castiel met each other for the first time in their lives, one cold Christmas Eve, in a run-down bar at the edge of town, drunk out of their minds and seeking nothing more than another lonely soul to spend this most painful of nights with, to forget about what they did not have.

Yes, it is and was and will always be about love and peace, and finding home.

**Author's Note:**

> Something sappy for the holidays! Hope y'all having a good one!


End file.
